


with each love i could lose, i was never the same

by renlybardatheon (aheartcalledhome)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-09 02:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20846051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aheartcalledhome/pseuds/renlybardatheon
Summary: Lady Joanna Lannister had twins during her second pregnancy and not the first, and it made all the difference.





	1. soft and pure as snow

**Author's Note:**

> here's the jaime and tyrion are twins au (aka the "jaime is tywin's worst nightmare from the literal moment of his birth" universe) i've been yelling about on discord for what feels like a month now, in honor of j/b week. it's going to be a relatively short little thing, as far as i know, because i don't have much plot in mind. however, it could get huge. i truly do not know enough about myself to say.
> 
> all the background you need is that joanna is alive and that makes tywin very marginally less shitty but extremely less involved in his children's lives, which is honestly in the best interests of everyone involved.
> 
> title from hozier's "would that i", which... yeah.
> 
> hope you enjoy it!  
-s

Jaime Lannister heard the news of his father’s timely arrival with the Lannister Army to break open the iron gates and sack the city like it was a fairytale ending to a bloody war none of the pages at Crakehall knew enough about to explain. Jaime had seen his father on two short occasions since being sent away to foster with Lord Sumner Crakehall, and was acknowledged directly by him neither time, so nothing more than a little twinge of relief rang through him like a bell when he heard his father was safe, healthy, and alive. He tuned out the rest of the gossip Addam Marbrand, a squire whose father had also gone with the Lannister Army to the capital, had heard pass between Lord Crakehall and the castellan earlier that afternoon. 

All that mattered to Jaime was that the Targaryen dynasty was over -- King Aerys II was dead on his throne, Prince Rhaegar dead at the Trident, and the heir to the throne, five year old Viserys, lost to the wind -- and that his father, once Hand to King Aerys, was likely on his way home for good. 

In the place of his kinfolk, Robert Baratheon, former Lord Protector of the Stormlands, was now King. Jaime remembered him from the tournament at Harrenhal he’d begged his father to go to, a brash, bold, and uncommonly loud man with rosy cheeks and a penchant for laughter. Robert Baratheon had not seemed a fearsome warrior until Jaime had spotted his warhammer and quickly found reasons to occupy himself elsewhere. Tyrion had found Jaime’s fear hilarious and promptly told everyone they knew about it. Their mother had laughed for hours, Jaime clutched to her chest like he was still a child, and he had smiled because she still loved him despite his embarrassment.

Cersei had rolled her eyes so hard Tyrion asked, feigning innocence, whether they were still securely attached to her head, then ducked out of the way just in time to avoid his ears getting boxed. His older sister had been ambitious from the day she was born, as the oldest child of House Lannister, and extended no mercy to her little brothers. She was obsessed with winning, with being the first and the best, and her enthusiasm for randomly visiting chaos upon her little brothers had not won their loyalty.

Neither he nor Tyrion knew her well enough to make anything more than sweeping generalizations, and the open secret that she considered her brothers to have stolen her birthright and her mother did not inspire any desire for closeness. All three Lannister children had been raised on the story of Jaime and Tyrion’s birth, of how the lucky accident of their mother carrying twins had saved her life. 

The maesters had caught an infection that could have killed her thanks to their attentiveness, and when Jaime prayed, he always thanked the Seven for that. He couldn’t imagine how dreary life would’ve been without his mother’s smile to light the way -- being raised solely by his father sounded more like a punishment than anything else. Sometimes he thought Cersei might have been happier, but he knew for a fact both he and Tyrion would be desolate without his mother’s kindness. She had never seen Tyrion as less than, nor had she judged Jaime for treating him as an equal, like both Cersei and their father had, publicly and loudly.

His mother had begged Cersei to get along with Jaime and Tyrion throughout their childhoods, but it had made no difference. Cersei hardly ever listened to anyone who wasn’t their father, which Jaime couldn’t understand. Their lady mother was one of the kindest, gentlest people he knew and Jaime would jump off the end of the earth for her in a heartbeat. His father, a man whose every action seemed rooted in bringing about injustice for his own gain, had been the one to separate him from his twin, letting Tyrion stay on at home with their mother and sending Jaime away to Crakehall to play at being a page. And yet Cersei loved him more than Jaime thought anyone capable of -- every one of her father's failings was treated as a benchmark for her to match in proving herself worthy of his attention.

Jaime wanted nothing more than to be home with his mother and brother, to play in the caves lining the foot of Casterly Rock and splash around in the Sunset Sea. His father hadn’t asked what he wanted, of course, had told him that this was simply a fostering until he was ready to be heir to the Rock, but he’d been lumped in with the boys who yearned to be knights nonetheless, as if that was something he should have wanted from the beginning. He was content to be led along by his clever little brother like a kite on a string fluttering in the wind behind him, charming everyone who spoke to him with a wide, toothy smile and kind words untouched by artifice, none of which were traits his father prized in an heir.

His mother had stuffed his little head with epic stories of knights and maidens and great battles, but beyond messing about with a tourney sword, Jaime had found no great urge to become anything more than a fair hand with a sword. He knew the value of defending himself and his brother, as well as anyone else who should need it, but he was no knight. He was no warrior. His mother’s patient approach to his schooling when the Septas and Maesters had given up on him had Jaime ready to take the Rock’s riches for himself when his father inevitably burst into flame rather than stepping down from a position of authority.

Their father was always looking for opportunities to play his children like chess pieces, and Cersei so longed to be played for reasons that escaped Jaime. When their father inevitably asked her to marry the young king to solidify the Lannister’s place among the great houses, Cersei would agree readily. Lyanna Stark was dead, and highborn ladies would surround the vulnerable king like vultures -- his sister’s task would be to be the first and best among them, something she would strive for with a ferocity Jaime often feared. There would be no beating Cersei at her own game -- there never had been, not that Jaime had ever been particularly interested.

With more time for his sons, who he'd soundly ignored during his tenure as Hand, there would be trouble coming for both Jaime and Tyrion bearing their father's name.

“They’re saying the Mad King had wildfire stored beneath the Keep.” Addam whispered. “Apparently Lord Tywin found it. He’s furious.”

“Did he get rid of it?” Jaime asked, curious. “It’s dangerous, right?”

He’d heard of wildfire, but never imagined it to be real. It had come up plenty in Tyrion’s books of dragons and dragon lore as the closest thing alchemists could devise to dragonfire, but Jaime had always thought it to be a joke, like most things men of science did. 

Tyrion would’ve had his head for even thinking that. 

“I’m sure he did.” Addam said, his words comforting and sweet. “What use does he have for it? He’s got an army.”

Addam was of an age with Cersei, but had always delighted in teaching Jaime and Tyrion things beyond their years to surprise the other boys with. Kindness was currency, in Casterly Rock, and Addam Marbrand was the richest man of all. Jaime and Tyrion had explored the Rock at his heels, like puppies begging for attention, and fostering at Crakehall, where Addam was squiring, was the only kindness that Jaime could say his father had ever done him.

“Did he get rid of it?” Another page asked, bewildered. “Why would he get rid of it? It’s already made, isn’t it? They might as well use it against threats to the Crown.”

Jaime felt sick to his stomach, though he couldn’t place why. Why would there be threats to the Crown now that the Rebellion had won? There were no shortage of Loyalists -- it was rumored that Robert’s army had beat them thrice in one day at Summerhall -- but did they really need to be killed? And in the same way the Mad King was rumored to have killed anyone he disliked? 

Did no one else see the danger in leaving a fire that burned hotter than any other known to man, inextinguishable by water in the hands of the most ambitious man in Westeros?

Jaime just hoped his father’s machinations didn’t end with a Lannister sitting on the Iron Throne. 

It looked awfully uncomfortable.


	2. Chapter 2

In retrospect, Jaime should have assumed something terrible was about to happen. He groaned and moaned as his horse merrily clopped along behind his father’s, as loudly as he could manage without attracting too much undue attention. He’d been summarily banned from riding in the wheelhouse with his mother, who was now being forced to suffer the indignity of Cersei’s company, which, though tempered by Tyrion’s presence, must be awful. 

Cersei and Tyrion turned into the worst versions of themselves around each other -- Cersei’s ambition turned conniving and insatiable and Tyrion shapeshifting into some nasty ghoul that wore a little boy’s face -- and Jaime could hardly stand it most days. He couldn’t imagine the added pressure his mother faced of knowing she had brought both of them into the world. His father often told him that it was just as easy to bring a child into the world as it was to take one out of it, when they’d made too much noise in the hallway near his study, and Jaime knew better than to tempt him. His mother had told him the opposite, that there were few tasks harder than bringing a child into the world and keeping them there. 

Jaime was far more inclined to believe her, but far more inclined to fear his father’s words nonetheless. Tywin Lannister was more a bloodhound than a lion at heart, sniffing around for weaknesses to exploit, but that was for Jaime to think quietly to himself and for others to be punished for. 

He looked around idly as his horse followed his father’s like they were chained together, taking in the rolling hills covered in tall green grass. The Crownlands, with their sprawling villages and woods, felt foreign and strange, like the trees might come alive and eat him whole. Jaime had never come so far east before. He was quite glad to be on his own horse, free to ride ahead and take little detours of his own, he did wish he had better company than his father, who seemed to have decided that it was the perfect time to lecture at him.

Jaime had missed home since the Westerlands had disappeared behind the mountains near Silverhill, yearning for the Rock and Crakehall alike. For all he’d enjoyed being away from home and the freedoms it had earned him, he missed his room, his toys, the security of knowing Tyrion was in the other bed every night, snoring away softly, dreaming of incredible, fantastical things. For all he’d felt grown up, when sent to Crakehall, he no longer felt so sure of himself.

But the crossing of the Blackwater Rush made him feel alive in a way nothing in Casterly Rock ever could, and he ran back to the wheelhouse to tell Tyrion all about it while they broke for the afternoon meal. Something about his excitement had rubbed off on Tyrion as well, and the both of them chased each other about the perimeter of the camp, hollering at the top of their lungs. They tackled each other to the dirt for what felt like hours until their father put an end to it, sending Jaime to his horse and Tyrion back to the hell of Cersei’s company.

It was a relief when Tywin Lannister finally called for the caravan to halt for the night. No inns were in sight, so the men set about pitching a tent, and Jaime crept, unseen, into the wheelhouse where his mother, Tyrion, and Cersei sat, hoping against all hope that his sister had gone to stretch her legs. 

He should’ve known better.

Cersei was arguing with their mother just quietly enough that they couldn’t be heard outside the wheelhouse, but her words were knife sharp nonetheless. She couldn’t have picked a more worthy opponent though -- Joanna Lannister had never backed down from a fight in all her life and she liked to lose even less than her only daughter did. At the sight of Jaime, blond hair soaked from the rain that had begun some hours into their trek and sniffling, plodding toward her looking bone tired, she smiled.

“Hello there.” Joanna Lannister smiled. Her blonde hair fell about her face in carefully maintained waves and her traveling clothes, though simple, made her look every inch a queen. Casterly Rock had been the seat of an independent kingdom once, and one look at Joanna Lannister could make any man believe that it could be again. “It seems we have ourselves a visitor.”

Jaime bowed clumsily, barely suppressing a grin as he caught sight of Tyrion, nearly curled up into a ball, wedged between his mother’s side and the wall of the wheelhouse. His clothes were rumpled and his feet bare, his socks and boots discarded somewhere on the floor, and Jaime found himself longing to be in a similar state of disarray. For all the misfortune Tyrion’s stature had brought him, at least their father let him do what he pleased, even if it only was because Tyrion was never let to see the light of day while he was around.

“And a polite one too.” Joanna laughed. “Come, sit by me. Tyrion’s left just enough space for you.” She grabbed his nose between her thumb and forefinger and tweaked it gently. “How was your day with your father?”

“Awful.” Jaime said glumly. “All he did was call me stupid.”

“He’s right.” Cersei grumbled. “I can’t see why you’re getting any inheritance at all, given that your skull’s thicker than the Wall.”

“Cersei.” Joanna said sharply. “Perhaps you should go outside. Stretch your legs. The fresh air will do you some good.”

“I don’t think any amount of fresh air will solve my problems, Mother.” Cersei frowned. “My problems are far beyond that.” She glared at Jaime, who shrugged. He’d long since grown used to the fact that the simple fact of his birth had put him so low in his sister’s esteem that he could never claw his way up to even ambivalence. “Brat. Father spends the whole day with you and all you have are complaints.”

“If he had anything other than complaints, I would too.” Jaime scowled. “Listen to Mother for once in your life.”

“Jaime.” Joanna turned on him next, and he quieted immediately, wide eyed and shrinking into himself just enough that she took pity on him, drawing him into her arms. “Sweetling, all I said was to leave your sister alone, not to worry about me being angry. What have they done to you at Crakehall?” She fussed over him, wiping imaginary dirt stains from his cheeks. “I told him you’d be better off at home with your brother. Not every boy needs to be sent to someone else’s keep to learn his lessons.”

“Typical. Jaime says anything and you forget you were ever talking to me.” Cersei spat. “I hate you.” She swept off toward the door and slammed it behind her as she left, so hard that it rattled on its hinges.

“At least it’ll be quieter now.” Jaime croaked miserably. He had missed his mother like he might miss his sword hand, an essential part of him cast away somewhere beyond his reach. “Without Cersei screaming all the time.”

“Jaime.” Joanna said softly. “You know the more you say those things about her, the worse she’ll treat you. If you give her the benefit of the doubt, she might be convinced to do the same to you.” 

“Who’ll convince her, Father?” Jaime sighed. “He doesn’t like me. He never will. He wishes Cersei were a boy so I wouldn’t be his heir.”

“I wouldn’t say that, sweetling.” She kissed his forehead. “He sees value in different things than you do. You are perfectly happy in anyone’s company and he is too stiff to see past his own nose. Not a winning combination.” She pinched his ear as his Aunt Genna often did. “It is a difficult time in her life now. She knows she won’t be returning home with us, that she’ll be marrying King Robert because Lady Lyanna passed away. I was lucky enough to marry for love, but not everyone is.”

“I’m happiest in your company.” Jaime said eagerly, hoping that if he ignored the talk of love, his mother would say no more on the subject. “I missed you when I was at Crakehall.”

“You wrote me plenty of letters.” Joanna carded a hand through Jaime’s hair, forcing the wet strands to lay flat against his head. “I read every one at least twice.”

“Did you really?” Jaime’s eyes grew impossibly brighter. “Twice?”

“Some more than that.” She said. “Tyrion read them even more often than I did. We hardly knew what to do with ourselves, for the first few moons after you left. It was so quiet in the house without you. We had to resort to leaving Genna’s boys some surprises.”

“Lyonel’s terrified of rats.” Jaime whispered, as if they might be overheard. Beside his mother, Tyrion stirred. “Tyrion and I once told him there were rats in the kitchen and had Arryk from the stables make rat noises while he was sneaking food. He nearly cried with fear.” He laughed, riotously enough that it woke Tyrion from his slumber.

Tyrion sat straight up, a scowl so strong it would have looked at home on their father’s face marring his mismatched features. He blinked sleepily, hands fumbling for his mother’s arm to steady himself, and she let go of Jaime to pull Tyrion into her side, coaxing him slowly to full awareness as she often had when they were children. 

“Still, it would do you both good to be kinder to your sister. You never know when you’ll be in need and she’ll be the only one who can help you.” Joanna said. “I understand she can be difficult--”

“If I was on fire, Cersei wouldn’t piss on me to put it out.” Tyrion grumbled before planting his face in a pillow. “Don’t wake me up. I’m tired.”

“Tyrion, remember what I said about talking ill of your sister--”

“She’s stressed and because of that, she’s stressful. I can’t hold her responsible for circumstances beyond her control.” Tyrion groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mother, I want to sleep.”

“Of course, Tyrion.” She kissed his forehead. “I’m sorry for waking you, sweetling.” At that, Tyrion’s gloomy disposition dissipated, and he clung to her side like a little limpet, eyes slipping closed again. “He could always fall asleep anywhere. Any amount of noise, light or movement. You were our little challenge, Jaime.”

“Ours?”

“For all you think your father doesn’t love you, he does.” Joanna sighed. “He’s not very good with his words, especially not when children are concerned. Or not as good as he thinks he is, to be more accurate.”

“He’ll have to get better, if he’s going to be home with you and Tyrion from now on.” Jaime huffed. “He can say whatever he wants about me. I won’t let him speak ill of you or Tyrion.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t dare speak ill of me.” Joanna chuckled. “He’s learned where that will get him.”

“Where?” Jaime asked curiously.

“In more trouble than he’d like.” Joanna grinned. “The fact remains, Jaime, that your father and sister… well, they’re different. They’re not like you, or me, or Tyrion. They see the world differently. Do things differently. But that doesn’t mean they’re wrong. Everyone’s got things to improve upon, and I won’t deny that there are some things your sister could do differently--”

“You mean everything.” Tyrion, who hadn’t truly been sleeping, muttered.

“Tyrion.”

“Sorry.”

“But that doesn’t mean any of you get to treat the others badly.” Joanna finished, with a swat to Tyrion’s shoulder. “I’ll speak to her as well. This isn’t just for the two of you to hear.”

“Glad to hear it.” Tyrion gave up on his pretense, hauling himself up into a sitting position. “It’s never her fault with Father.”

“Well, that’s good news for you, since she’ll be in King’s Landing with King Robert soon enough.” Jaime pointed out.

“But then everything will always be my fault.” Tyrion sighed.

“Oh no.” Jaime said softly. “I never thought about it like that.”

“Oh, Jaime.” Joanna nudged his shoulder fondly. “Don’t worry, I will protect our little maiden fair.”

“Does that make Father the bear?” Jaime laughed. “Father would make an excellent bear.”

“An excellent bear?” Tywin Lannister’s voice shocked both his sons, though his wife smiled knowingly at him as he shut the door behind him, dragging his daughter inside by the sleeve. He sat Cersei down on the bench opposite his wife and sons before taking the seat beside her. “I don’t know what kind of a bear I would be, but I doubt it would be excellent.”

“You would do well enough for yourself.” Joanna shot a smile his way and Tywin seemed almost embarrassed by it. “Though our Tyrion would prevail, of course.”

“Right, right.” Tywin rubbed at his nose, looking surprisingly human. “So he will.” He kept his eyes averted, looking at everything but Tyrion huddled against his wife’s side. “I’ve spoken to Cersei, as you said. We’ve come to an understanding about her behavior and what is expected of her so long as she remains under our protection.”

“When you’re done speaking about me as if I wasn’t here, I have something to say.” Cersei interjected.

Tywin carried on speaking as if he hadn’t heard her at all. “I did want to speak to the boys, before we reach King’s Landing on the morrow, about how they are expected to behave themselves in the city. I may no longer be Hand, but that does not mean I can entertain foolish behavior.”

“If any child of ours behaves like a fool in public, it is for a reason.”

“That may be so, but--”

“They are children, not hunting dogs.” Joanna said calmly, with the exasperated air of someone who was saying those words for the thousandth time. “Leave them be. They know the rules. We’ve taught them ourselves and have hired the best to continue those lessons. If they fail on this stage, they are children yet. No one will set your reputation aflame over a child’s indiscretion.”

It seemed to be too soon after King Aerys’ death to make jokes about fire, as his mother’s voice faltered the second the words left her mouth and whatever mirth his father’s eyes had held disappeared in a snap of the Stranger’s fingers.

“This is more like it.” Tyrion mumbled. “Lannister silence. We should have it bottled.” 

“Tyrion.” Tywin snapped, before having the decency to look ashamed. “Tyrion, do keep from starting fights where none exist. We are all tired from a long day’s ride and need to be on our best behavior on the morrow. Let’s leave the wheelhouse to the women. The men have pitched a tent for us beside it. Jaime, Tyrion, up.”

Jaime and Tyrion rose without complaint, and after a flurry of hugs passed between them (much to Tywin’s annoyance), they were sent out into the cold summer night behind their father, feet squelching through mud toward the red and gold tent. 

“I hate him.” Tyrion said gloomily. “He may love Mother but he’ll never love me.”

“We are Mother’s. Maybe he will change his mind.” Jaime said, ever the optimist. 

“He won’t.” Tyrion shook his head. “And if you think he might, you’re just as bad as he is.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said this was for braime week, but they won't meet until next chapter. sorry? it's coming, i promise, but this is definitely shaping up to be a more jaime-centric fic than i thought it was going to be. surprises are surprises and i'm glad to have them. 
> 
> i've got another short au cooking after this one finishes, but keep an eye out for a big splash in a small pond from me tomorrow afternoon -- i'm planning on sending braime week into the weekend with a big bang!
> 
> -s

The City Watch of King’s Landing had become construction workers overnight -- even though the caravan took the neatest, cleanest paths through the city, with his father riding far ahead to clear the way, he still spotted goldcloaks ducking behind buildings and carrying chunks of rock that could’ve only come from destroyed buildings. Buildings that could’ve been the homes of smallfolk. How many had died for Robert to sit the throne? How many more had burned alive before King Aerys?

How could anyone want the throne at all? To Jaime, it seemed far too much responsibility for far too little reward. 

He dared not voice that thought aloud -- between his father and Cersei, he’d be ripped to shreds for it. His mother had cautioned him that there were ears everywhere before they entered the city, when they’d started breaking camp in the morning. He’d asked her when she’d visited the city last and she’d simply frowned and told him not to question her, her green eyes far away as she stared out over the path that would take them to the same gates his father had stormed weeks ago.

“It’s beautiful.” Jaime said, face pressed up against the window. Tyrion shoved him, wanting to fight for prime space, and he swung his hips into Tyrion’s chest hard enough to knock his brother off balance. “I’ll tell you what’s out there!”

“Jaime, Tyrion, behave.” Joanna said, the hint of a laugh peeking out from behind her stern words. 

“They won’t like this at court.” Cersei huffed snootily. “You’ll be seen as troublemakers. You’re the sons of a former Hand, not kitchen boys. Behave like it.”

“Your sister has a point, boys.” Joanna said, and Cersei barely concealed her look of surprise as Jaime scrambled down from the window, sitting down with his hands clasped in his lap. Tyrion rolled his eyes, but sat quietly as well. “Thank you. You’ll see more of King’s Landing in the days to come, don’t worry. There’s plenty of the city to explore.”

“And you’ll see more when you come to visit.” Cersei said unsteadily, gaze flickering to their mother as if she’d been coached to say the words. “It would be lonely, not seeing my brothers.”

“Lonely?” Tyrion said, baffled, at the same time Jaime said “of course!”

They looked at each other, slack jawed, before bursting into laughter. Jaime and Tyrion had always been as different as night and day in personality, but when it came to their senses of humor, they were identical. Their mother had often told them that they laughed as one, even if they saw the world through two sets of eyes, through two different perspectives, that they had even kicked her from the inside as one.

Even Cersei smiled, an odd sight, and her eyes were misty as the wheelhouse continued toward the Red Keep. Jaime wanted to ask her why, but kept his wonderings to himself. She seemed happy enough, and he didn’t want the moment to shatter like glass in his hands, this image of a perfect family flying apart.

He caught sight of a pink and blue ripple of fabric out of the corner of his eye and pointed to it aggressively to get Tyrion’s attention, his finger stabbing into the window of the wheelhouse. “Tyrion! Tyrion! What’s that?”

“A flag.” Tyrion said, standing up on the bench so he could see through the window. “Rose and blue, suns and moons. Don’t you remember whose that is?”

Jaime frowned, wringing his brain dry to match the name of the house to the sigil, and shrugged emptily after a few minutes, the flag long out of sight. That was Tyrion’s domain -- knowing the endless parade of names, sigils, and keeps of the great and lesser houses, whose bannermen wore what colors. Jaime had never been good at much beyond talking to others, though his Lord Father had assured him that talking to others was the majority of the duties of the Lord of Casterly Rock anyhow. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that Tyrion would be better at it. He never had. He almost wished his father would give Tyrion the chance, would ignore the minute or so that Jaime had been alone in the world and name Tyrion as his heir, but they both knew better than to expect that. He looked over at his brother, who still waited patiently for an answer, eyes bright and hands clasped together before him.

“I don’t know.” Jaime said, and, to her credit, Cersei didn’t even sneer. “I don’t remember.”

“That’s the banner of House Tarth. Rose and azure quartered, with a sun-in-splendor on the rose quarters and a moon increscent argent on the azure quarters.” Tyrion said with a cheeky smile, and Joanna made no secret of her amazement when she turned to him. For all their mother loved Jaime, she’d never quite bestowed him with that same expression of surprise and awe. “The Evenstar is here, probably to pledge fealty to King Robert. He was the Lord Protector of the Stormlands, so King Robert was his liege lord once. His brother Stannis is Lord of Storm’s End in his place.”

“It’s not Stannis.” Cersei cut in, and Jaime stared at her in confusion. “It’ll be Renly. I heard Father talking about it a few days ago, when we stopped near the second crossing of the Rush.”

“Isn’t Renly a baby?” Jaime asked.

“He’s only a few years younger than us, Jaime, that’s hardly a baby.” Tyrion said. “But Stannis isn’t a baby, so that seems… contentious.”

“Also Stannis is mean.” Jaime chimed in. 

The one time he’d had the misfortune of meeting the middle Baratheon brother, he’d quickly decided he would rather swallow knives than ever speak to him again. He’d consoled himself, at the time, that he would be on the opposite side of Westeros from Stannis Baratheon, but now, they were soon to be good-brothers.

The Seven had an awful sense of humor.

“You’ll be brothers soon.” Joanna cautioned. “He may be forthright and a stickler for the rules, but he’s certainly not mean.”

Jaime and Tyrion traded looks of annoyance.

“I can see you, boys.” Joanna said. “Don’t.”

The wheelhouse shuddered to a halt, and they heard several quick taps upon the door, signaling that it was safe to dismount. 

“We’re here.” Joanna said brightly. "Remember, straighten your clothes out if you haven’t already, and mind the steps when you get down. Everyone ready?”

With a chorus of “yes, mother”s, the Lannister children arranged themselves neatly by birth order, wrinkled fabric hurriedly pulled at and hidden by conveniently placed hands. Jaime stared up at the back of Cersei’s head and wondered if, in a few short weeks, the line would shrink to him and Tyrion forever. Cersei wouldn’t truly be a Lannister anymore if she married King Robert. She’d be a Queen with a powerful family, with no need for either of her brothers, even if they had been smarter and kinder and altogether less abrasive.

The door to the wheelhouse swung open and their mother descended the steps on their father’s arm, Cersei following behind her in a billow of expensive fabric, and Jaime hardly kept his feet steady until they were on the floor, terrified of tripping over himself. Tyrion made it look easy, tackling the steps with the enthusiasm of a dying man chasing his last wish. He was born for court, for business and war. 

Why would his father choose Jaime as heir in his place? Was the idea of Tyrion in charge of the Lannister empire so terrible?

“Welcome.” King Robert, who looked more like a boy than a man, smiled. His crown, wrought of solid gold, resembled a forest of interlocked antlers studded with little amber gemstones. It looked heavy and altogether impractical, but King Robert paid it no mind, likely gladder to have it on his head than anyone else’s. “It’s wonderful to see you again. Lord Tywin, Lady Joanna, a pleasure as always.” He shook Jaime’s father’s hand before gently kissing the back of his mother’s.

“Cersei, always wonderful to see you.” Robert took her hand but made no move to kiss it. Instead, they stared at each other, the looks that they were sending each other sharp enough to cut through Valyrian steel. He coughed awkwardly, letting go of her hand, and Cersei looked away toward their parents.

“Well, well, who are you?” He stopped in front of Jaime. “You must be Jaime Lannister. I hear you’re quite the little swordsman. Would you like to be a knight someday?”

“No.” Jaime shrugged. “I don’t think so. It seems like too much trouble.” 

His cheeks colored in an instant once he realized how easily that could be read as impertinence. Robert was a King. Jaime’s actions would have sweeping consequences, for himself and his family. For his sister, who was betrothed to Robert. He felt his chest tighten, his vision blurring slightly.

After what felt like an eternity, King Robert laughed, a deep, rolling sound not unlike a thunderstorm, and clapped him on the shoulder like he was a man grown, one of King Robert’s friends rather than his young future good-brother.

“Too much trouble, he says. Oh, I think I’ll like you plenty.” He slung an arm around Jaime’s shoulders. “You’ll make a fine advisor someday, if you play your cards right.”

Jaime looked to his father, who nodded sharply, and followed his lead, nodding at Robert, who seemed to find Jaime’s deference to his father equally hilarious.

“Oh yes.” King Robert said, letting go of Jaime. “You’ll do.” He crouched down before Tyrion, offering his hand for Jaime’s twin to shake. “I hear you know everything there is to know, Tyrion. Your sister’s spoken very highly of you.”

Tyrion looked to Cersei, bewildered, and her cheeks flushed red but she said nothing.

“We’ll have to find the both of you good mentors, that’s for sure. Sharp minds can’t go to waste.” King Robert cracked his knuckles like a commoner might, then shot an apologetic smile at Jaime’s father, with the casual irreverence of a man used to getting his way first and asking questions later. “I have a council to appoint, but the servants will show you to your rooms.”

“Will my presence be required?” Jaime’s father asked, a clear challenge to King Robert’s authority.

“Not for now.” King Robert said easily, his smile never budging. “I will call on you if I need to. I would be grateful for your advice.” He looked to Cersei, who had nothing but condescension tucked behind the curtains of propriety to offer. “We’ll meet again at the evening meal. It’s been wonderful to see you all.” 

Jon Arryn, who wore the same brass hand pin fastened proudly on Tywin Lannister’s chest, hurried him off down a hallway, whispering in his ear, and Jaime’s father’s eyes went dark and dangerous.

“It is good that you’ll be marrying him.” Tywin Lannister said instead, not even looking at his daughter. “If he’s chosen Arryn, we’ll need to stay close.”

Cersei nodded eagerly, a puppet in their father’s string of schemes, and Jaime had nothing in his heart for her but pity.


	4. Chapter 4

Jaime lunged at the training dummy, the point of his sword hovering at its neck, before slashing down its chest, straw spilling out of the bundle onto the floor. He was quite fond of practicing against training dummies who were incapable of fighting back, but he didn’t think he could fight a real man, a flesh and blood person standing opposite him, even if they posed him a threat. His mother had always reminded him that no matter how difficult a situation seemed to resolve without resorting to battle, it was possible. His father, conversely, had reminded him that his enemies would always be looking for a weakness -- if he didn’t train with the sword at all, they would know exactly how to kill him.

He and Tyrion had decided that to mean that they would be each other’s champions, if they were ever challenged to a trial by combat.

“I’m no good with a sword.” Tyrion had said. “But I’ll do my best for you.”

“I’ll try not to need trials by combat, then.” Jaime had replied, and they’d ended up wrestling on the floor. 

Tyrion had won. He wasn’t stronger than Jaime by any means, but he knew how to end fights quickly, a skill Jaime lacked. He had always liked the feeling of an even match more than a quick, dirty victory, something both his siblings had exploited for their own gain.

“That was mine.” 

A voice rang out in the training yard, and Jaime nearly jumped out of his own skin. He turned around to see a young man, just an inch or two taller than him, staring forlornly at the training dummy that he’d hacked to pieces. The boy held a wooden sword in hands that were at least twice the size of Jaime’s own, tight enough that Jaime thought his knuckles might pop through the skin of his pale hands.

“Sorry.” Jaime smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t ask. I should’ve, but there was no one around.”

The boy nodded slowly, trudging over to a bench before sitting down heavily upon it, the beginnings of a strop obviously brewing in his eyes. He wore no identifiable color nor a crest, not that Jaime would’ve been able to tell if he had, and his clothes were simple and padded well -- perhaps he was a squire. 

“You should’ve.” The boy said, obviously slow to words, and Jaime nodded, scuffing his boots against the dirt floor as he glanced around the yard.

“You come here often?” He asked, realizing as the words left his mouth how utterly stupid that was. “My, uh, my family’s visiting.” He pulled at the edge of his tunic, thankfully one that didn’t bear Lannister colors too prominently. “My sister’s at court, see, and I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

“We’re visiting as well.” He nodded, locks of straw blond hair falling inelegantly into his eyes. “My father and I. We’re from an island off the coast.” 

Jaime waited on tenterhooks for a response, but the boy seemed to have said all he wanted to say, staring at Jaime like he was a rat dragged out of the tunnels under the Red Keep. His gaze flickered once to the training dummy as he shifted his sword in his hands, looking rather unsure, and Jaime stepped aside to clear his path.

“I’ve-- I’ve, uh, I’ve wrecked it pretty badly, but I hope it’s still worth it.” Jaime said. 

He licked his lips, which felt too dry, and stumbled back over his feet to allow the boy to get closer. He’d never bothered to interrogate his feelings too often, thinking it too much trouble, but the boy was pretty, though he obviously didn’t think himself so. His hard features, twice broken nose, and goofy smile were alluring, and he carried himself with a confidence that spoke of security in who he was. 

Jaime wished he had that.

“It’s not so bad.” The boy smiled. “You’ll need to work on your footwork some.” He nodded in Jaime’s direction. “You nearly fell when you were getting out of the way.”

“No I didn’t!” Jaime protested. “I never fall.”

The boy raised his eyebrows, feigning shock. “Really? I hadn’t realized.”

“Never.” Jaime said stubbornly. He sheathed his sword before sitting on the same bench the boy had just moments earlier. “Are you planning to be a knight someday?”

“I hope so.” The boy said. “No one like me’s ever been a knight before.”

“No one tall?” Jaime mused aloud. “I’m sure there have been tall knights.”

The boy looked back toward him, a curious frown on his face, before beginning to hack away at the dummy in careful, practiced movements. He was graceful, his sword arcing through the air at a mere suggestion of a movement, and Jaime’s jaw dropped in surprise as it whirled and bit into the dummy, straw spilling everywhere. He was an incredible swordsman. It took Jaime’s breath away. If his looks hadn’t already caught Jaime’s attention, his grace and daring would have. 

“Can you-- can you teach me?” Jaime asked. “I should like to learn. I don’t have much, uh, opportunities to test my sword against people my own age.”

“Maybe tomorrow.” The boy said with a lopsided grin. 

“The King is marrying my sister tomorrow.” Jaime said. “Perhaps afterward?”

“Perhaps afterward.” The boy said, his grin melting into a frown as he looked Jaime over, as if seeing him for the first time. “Your sister? Marrying the King?”

“My sister Cersei.” Jaime said proudly, for as much as he hated Cersei, she was still his older sister. “She’s the smartest girl I know. Even smarter than my mother, but that’s okay to say because my mother says it.”

“So you’re…”

“Jaime. Jaime Lannister.” He stumbled to his feet and stuck out his sweaty hand to shake. “And you?”

The boy looked at the proffered hand in disdain, then turned back to the dummy, his cheeks bright red.

“None of your business.” He said, sounding rather embarrassed, and Jaime reared back like he’d been slapped in the face, withdrawing his hand. 

“Oh.” Jaime said softly. “Right.” 

He slunk back to the corridor that lead to his family’s rooms without a further word to the flaxen-haired boy, who had returned to his training as if it were nothing at all to him that Jaime had left. Served him right for thinking he could make a friend. Cersei had had no shortage of tall tales about how vicious everyone was in King’s Landing and how she’d had to stretch herself to keep up, though Jaime privately thought it would have required no effort at all from her to sink to greater and greater depths to head off her enemies.

“What’s got you in a mood?” Tyrion shoved him lightly to catch his attention.

“I think I made a friend.” Jaime said glumly. 

“That’s the spirit.” Tyrion said, confused. “Atta boy.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jaime hummed a few bars of “Jenny of Oldstones” as he hacked away at his bangs in front of the cracked mirror in the corner of his and Tyrion’s room. The barber had done a passable job, but Jaime knew he could do better. The only issue was that with every cut, his hair seemed to look more and more uneven. Tyrion sat on their bed laughing like Jaime had chosen a new career as a jester, urging him to cut to the left or right in between snorts and giggles that burst out of him like water collapsing a dam. 

Their parents had forgotten about them since shortly before the afternoon Jaime had gone exploring and found the boy in the training yard, who he hadn’t seen since. Cersei was their firstborn, their beloved daughter, and their mother in particular had been inseparable from her, watery eyed at every mention of Cersei’s impending marriage. Jaime knew his parents liked King Robert well enough, but that their reservations about him sprung from wildly different places. Their father was upset with King Robert for not offering him a spot on his small council, and their mother was upset with King Robert’s reputation for infidelity and indulgence. Neither was enough to call off marrying his sister off to him and securing House Lannister’s place at the top, though Jaime doubted his mother was forcing that point so much as his father. 

To her credit, Cersei seemed just as aggrieved about the whole affair as their mother did. With their father stalking King Robert like a predator keeping its prey within sight and their mother absorbed in Cersei’s predicament, Jaime and Tyrion had far too much time on their hands and had spent all of it getting up to small time mischief that wouldn’t earn them more than a slap on the wrist when their mother had a moment to think of more than Cersei. They’d liberated food from the kitchens, terrorized the Tyrell girls who had dared to say a word about their sister (because only they having survived Cersei’s reign of terror for their whole lives, could call her terrible).

“I think you’re done.” Tyrion said, and Jaime shook his head hard to dislodge any chunks of hair that might have been hanging on by a strand before smiling at himself in the mirror. He thought he looked good, but the illusion lasted only as long as Tyrion’s silence -- when his twin began to laugh again, he scowled. 

“You fix it then.” He tossed the dagger at Tyrion, who barely managed to catch it by the handle. 

“That was extremely unsafe.” Tyrion pointed out. “You could have killed me.”

It occurred to Jaime then that he had thrown a knife at his brother. 

“Oh.” Jaime said. “I could have. Sorry.”

“That’s good enough.” Tyrion grinned. “And you don’t look half bad. You look quite cavalier. I like it. It will impress all the young ladies Father likely has lined up for you after the wedding.”

“For me?” Jaime said, puzzled. “Why would I have anything to do with any young lady?”

“Marriage, Jaime.” Tyrion laughed. “Once Cersei’s safely married away to the Crown, Father has to provide for the Rock, doesn’t he? He needs a project, now that he’s no longer Hand. And that’s you.”

“I hate our family.” Jaime slumped back onto the bed, hands clamped over his eyes. “We can’t do anything right.”

A knock sounded on their door, and Tyrion clambered down from the bed, straightening his clothes.

“It’s time for the Sept.” He said, solemnity wiping all traces of glee from his face. “Do you think we should…” He frowned, looking rather unsure. “Do you think we should say goodbye to Cersei first?”

“It’s not as if she’ll be dead after she weds King Robert.” Jaime argued, but he felt the same tug at his heart. For all her faults, their sister had loved them in the only way she knew how, even if it had been far too close to bullying for either of their tastes. “But I think we should. Just-- Just to remind her that we’re still her brothers. In case she forgot.”

“Right.” Tyrion shifted his weight awkwardly between his feet, still frowning. “In case she’s forgotten.” He cleared his throat twice before pointing toward the door again, looking expectantly at Jaime. “Shall we? Father will be upset if we’re late.”

“He will.” 

They trudged down the hall in silence toward where they knew the closed carriage that would take the Lannisters, a family of five for only a few short hours longer, to the Sept of Baelor. Jaime privately thought that though Cersei would be a Baratheon in name, she would never give up the headstrong, unshakeable Lannister pride for anything -- it was too ingrained in who she was. Maybe she would keep that little flame of Lannister identity alive in King’s Landing forever, for the grandchildren that she and Robert might give his parents. 

They climbed up into the carriage, immediately gravitating to Cersei’s either side like little guards, and their mother laughed at how gravely her children looked ahead, like the three of them were consigned to prison together. Jaime reached out for his sister’s hand, once his parents were otherwise occupied, and Cersei looked to him in confusion before taking it.

“You’re still one of us.” Jaime whispered. “Even if you’re married and even if you’re Queen. We’ll still miss you.”

Cersei’s eyes swam with tears as she swallowed hard, struck silent for the first time in her life. 

“That’s pathetic.” She spat, though there was none of her usual vitriol behind it. If Jaime didn’t know her to be incapable of it, he would almost believe she was thinking of him with fondness. “Control yourself, Jaime.” She looked away from him, though he thought it was more to collect herself than anything else, and squeezed her hand softly to try and help. “Sentimentality does nothing for anyone.”

“Suit yourself.” Jaime said, just loudly enough that it caught his mother’s attention, and she smiled to see them holding hands. “We’ll miss her, right, Tyrion?”

“We will.” Tyrion confirmed, voice sounding thin and drawn, and leaned delicately into their sister’s side. “The Rock will certainly be quieter, but… not always in a good way.”

Cersei looked like she’d been punched in the stomach.

“Save your tears for the wedding.” She grumbled, sounding far too much like their father for anyone’s comfort. “This is too much.”

“It’s exactly right, I’d say.” Tyrion protested, but they all lapsed into silence, clinging to each other for fear of what lay ahead, until the carriage stopped in front of the Sept. 

All they had known, for much of their lives, was the three of them together, even if Cersei had required everyone to play by her endless rules and specifications for far too much of it. Who would police their games? Who would direct their mischief? Without Cersei’s hands on everything, would any of it feel the same? Could any of it feel the same?

“Be brave, Cers.” Jaime said, just loudly enough for his sister to hear, as their father took her arm stiffly, ready to lead her into the Sept. “Robert isn’t so bad.”

“He isn’t.” Cersei confirmed, with a sharp nod of her head, but she looked happier for being reminded. “Get away, brat, you’re delaying everything.”

“Okay. At your leisure, my queen.” Jaime smiled before running off to their mother, who seemed to be talking Tyrion down from the ledge of emotion and being talked down by Tyrion in equal measure. “Shall we, Mother?” He held out his arm just as his father had to Cersei, and his mother barely held back tears, carefully linking her arm with his. “It’ll be okay. Cersei will be the same Cersei. Just busier.”

“You’re a good boy, Jaime.” She pinched his cheek with her free hand before offering it to Tyrion to hold. “Come on, boys. Let’s go find our seats.” 

They entered the Sept with little fanfare, sitting across the aisle from Robert’s brothers, Stannis looking apoplectic with rage and young Renly, newly appointed Lord of Storm’s End, yawning as he waited for something at all to happen. Jaime waved to Renly, who grinned before waving back excitedly, blue eyes like little shards of the sky in his pale face. It reminded Jaime of the boy from the training yard, who’d said he was here for the wedding. He looked around the crowded Sept for a familiar flash of short flaxen hair, on a head floating far above the rest of the crowd. 

“What are you doing?” Tyrion whispered, as Jaime turned around to get a better look. “Cersei’s going to be over there, Jaime. If she sees you turned around, she’ll feel awful.”

Jaime’s heart jumped in his chest when he finally spotted the-- oh. The boy from the training yard was in a pink gown. Perhaps that’s why she’d been wary of him. He swallowed hard, blinking slowly. If anything, she was even prettier as a girl than he’d thought she was as a boy. She caught his eye, a frown heavy on her face, and he grinned at her to set her nerves at ease, waving at her as he had to Renly, and she smiled back, looking rather embarrassed.

He turned back around, cheeks flushed red, hoping he could melt into his seat. Of course she’d been worried once he said he was brother to the future Queen! If she had been practicing to be a knight, he easily could have-- and he’d asked her if she wanted to be a knight when she grew up! She must have thought he was doing so to hurt her! 

Jaime wanted nothing more than to melt into a puddle and sink through the cracks in the floor into the sewers of King’s Landing. He’d been so stupid. Of course she had been upset with him. Of course she’d refused to introduce herself, when asked. 

He was distracted for a time by Cersei and his father entering the Sept, King Robert’s face brightening with glee just as his brother Renly’s had at the sight of Jaime when he saw Cersei striding up the aisle, head held high. Perhaps they would be good to each other. Perhaps Cersei would find love and kindness in her husband. She deserved more than something hollow and political, though he’d often wondered if she would honestly prefer it as a child. She deserved someone who would see her ambition as the asset it was.

When her gaze flickered to him and Tyrion, he smiled as brightly as he could to try and settle her nerves, and the look in her emerald eyes softened at the sight of him. She promised herself to Robert soon thereafter, her eyes only for her husband as he sealed their vows with a kiss, but afterward, she looked to their mother and father like she was unsure of what to do next, doubt flint sharp in her eyes.

King Robert seemed to have his own ideas, his grip on her arm looking strong enough to be uncomfortable, and Cersei did her best to look as if she were directing him rather than the other way around. Jaime’s heart sank. Maybe they were just getting used to each other. It could be that simple, couldn’t it? But his heart wanted nothing more for Robert’s hand to loosen on his sister’s arm, for him to give her the space she needed to breathe.

The reception was a whirlwind of colors and patterns, the dance floor impossible to follow, and as such, Jaime hardly noticed the tap on his shoulder when it happened, staring into his empty cup sadly. He jerked to attention at the second tap, eyes wide in shock, to find the girl from the training yard half in the shadows beside him, curiosity clear in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, casting a glance at his parents before following her into her dimly lit corner. “I didn’t realize that-- that you were, you know.” He motioned to her gown. “Not in-- not in a bad way. I feel no shame in saying you’re beautiful now.”

She stared at him in confusion, like he’d just unfastened his own head and let it roll on the floor. 

“You’re an incredible swordswoman. And I was right when I said you’d be a wonderful knight someday. Anything I can do to help, as-- as myself, or as the Queen’s brother, I’ll do. Your talent shouldn’t be wasted.” Jaime rambled, eager to get the girl’s approval. “I don’t-- I don’t even know your name, actually, that’d be nice to know, if-- if I was to plead your case to my sister--”

“Brienne. I’m Brienne of Tarth.” The girl said with a nervous smile. Her name suited her -- strong and with little room for nonsense. Brienne. Jaime thought no other name had ever been so mellifluous. 

“Rose and azure quartered. Suns and moons.” Jaime mumbled, thinking of the ship in the harbor. So this was the daughter of the famed Evenstar, the future Evenstar herself. She would suit the role of the Crown’s first defense against Essos well.

“You know our sigil?” Brienne sounded amazed.

“My brother saw your ship in the harbor.” Jaime said. “It wasn’t-- I didn’t--”

“You know it, still.” She said. “Impressive. I don’t imagine you hear much about us, in the West.”

“Everyone knows the Evenstar. And someday they’ll know the Evenstar’s daughter as well.” Jaime said. “I promise. Your talent will make sure of it, and I’ll help however I can.”

“Brienne! Brienne, that’s where you’ve run off to. Honestly, Brienne, tell a man before--” A man even taller than Brienne, who had several inches on Jaime, burst through the crowd of dancers, who parted around him. “Oh, Lord Jaime, it’s wonderful to see you. Congratulations on your sister’s marriage.”

“Thank you.” Jaime bowed stiffly. “She had everything to do with it and I merely showed up on time, so your congratulations should be for her.”

“I will keep that in mind.” The Evenstar smiled warmly. “So you’ve struck up a friendship with our Queen’s brother, then?”

“He wanted to train with me.” Brienne admitted, looking quite pleased. “He said I was one of the best with a sword that he’s ever seen.”

“The best.” Jaime clarified. “I said the best.”

“So you did.” Selwyn’s eyes fixed upon a point behind Jaime’s right shoulder, and he followed the man’s gaze to see his father’s face. So something was brewing there. “You’re young. Don’t waste your nights talking. There’ll be plenty of time for that.” He patted Jaime’s shoulder. “Go on, give my daughter a good dance.” 

“Yes sir.” Jaime reached out for Brienne’s hand, a sheepish smile on his face. “Might I have this dance, my lady?”

“You may.” Brienne placed her hand delicately in his, smiling just as wide.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this, please leave a comment below if you feel so inclined! if you think i'd be fun to talk to, come hang out with me [on my fandom twitter](https://www.twitter.com/tamilprongspttr), where i talk about harry potter, braime, and grad school stress. i love making friends!
> 
> thanks for reading! i appreciate ur time and effort!  
-s


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